Last week, we told you a part of the story that was published in the Saturday Evening Post concerning our good friend, Casey Barthelmess, some seven or eight years ago, and told you what Casey said when Old Dame Rumor had it around that he was thrown at the Miles City Roundup in 1919 from the hurricane deck of a horse called Sunshine. But we did not tell you what the Post said about Casey after the 1919 Roundup. He had just returned from cavalry service overseas at the time and "struck it rich" at the rodeo, having collected $1150 in purses, the most money he had ever seen in his life. So he bought a few cattle, a batch of grub, and such tools as weren't practical to borrow from a distant neighbor, and got married to a schoolmarm. Instead of busting broncs, he spent the next thirty years busting sod and developing flood irrigation. It's the story of the progressively progressive Casey. He was among the first to divert runoff water onto dry land. Where once little more than sagebrush grew, you can now see beautiful fields of alfalfa. Alfalfa makes haystacks, and haystacks winter cattle. This is the last of the Post story, but if you want to be brought up to date about Casey, just catch him on the shady side of the street someday and ask him what has been happening on the Mizpah during the last seven or eight years and how many grandchildren he has now. He'll tell you quite a story.